Of Russians and Handcuffs
by Darkwood Princess
Summary: Napoleon Solo spends a miserable night handcuffed to his new partner Illya Kuryakin. Who knew the stoic Russian was such a wild sleeper? The first in a series of interconnected drabbles detailing the lives of our two favorite agents.
1. The Rough Night Affair

**AN: I'm new to this fandom, be gentle! I'm still working my way through the Man from U.N.C.L.E. This would take place directly after Napoleon and Illya first met. I don't know which fic I read the idea in, but the author suggested that new recruits were handcuffed to each other for a week or so. This is a snippet of what may have happened during our two favorite agent's week.**

Napoleon Solo was used to sleeping with others. Generally his favorites were tall, blond, and – this was the crucial part- women. Actually they were always women. And Illya was not a woman.

Not in the least.

The lean Russian was, however, a cover hog, a roller, and a kicker. Napoleon was going to have bruises for at least a week from sharing his bed with the wiry young man. Now he regretted deciding to have the two of them stay at his apartment instead of the hotel that U.N.C.L.E. had been putting the newly arrived Kuryakin in. At least they could have ordered up another cot.

Though explaining why they were handcuffed together might have been a bit uncomfortable.

Heck, it was uncomfortable already. Napoleon's arm was stretched almost as far away from his body as it could possibly be, dragged along with the mercurial sleeping habits of his new partner. How someone as cool and collected as Illya seemed to be could sleep like such a demon was beyond Napoleon's patience at the moment.

He tried to look on the bright side. At least his new partner didn't snore or drool or sleep talk. He was just a _rather violent sleeper_. It could be worse right? Napoleon shuddered at the thought of having a hugger for a partner. No, it could be far worse. That decided he was about to tug his arm back into a comfortable position when Illya decided to roll over again.

Except this time Napoleon hit the floor.

Staring up at the ceiling from his position spread-eagled on the floor, Napoleon wondered what genius thought this was a good idea.

"Build's teamwork my bruised behind!"


	2. The Black Eye Incident

**AN: Thank you to everyone who has welcomed me to the fandom! I've had a hard time finding anyone other than my parents who even know what I'm talking about when I mention the Man from UNCLE. So here goes… another drabble/chapter. **

"Do you have to stop and flirt with every female in the vicinity?" The sarcastic comment came after ten minutes of Napoleon attempting to chat up the secretaries who were curious about his recently acquired black eye. It was not easy to chase skirts with a stern Illya standing next to him, scaring all the women. It wasn't that Kuryakin was bad looking-far from it- it was his _personality_. Or, as far as Napoleon was concerned after these first twenty-four hours, lack of it. And the man was responsible for his black eye.

Tonight they would have separate cots or he would make a pillow barrier. Something had to be done. Napoleon valued his face.

" Maybe I wouldn't have to talk to all of them if I didn't have a black eye from sleeping with someone last night," was his equally as tetchy reply. "Others worry when their friends are randomly injured." And in any other circumstance he would have used that worry to his advantage. It was surprisingly easy to go from sympathy to an evening painting the town.

Blue eyes watched him shrewdly from under a mop of thick blond hair. "Those women are your friends?"

_Ouch. Touche._

"Have you ever had a girlfriend Illya?" His attempt to change the subject was rewarded with a glare and an increase in pace that jerked the handcuffs hard against Napoleon's already sore wrists. Obviously the Russian agent's personal life was _off limits_. Napoleon shrugged, realizing he knew little about the man next to him and wondering what else was trapped in his silent partner's head.

Then again, judging by the way the man moved like a shadow, inhaled his food as if it were going to run away, and frowned when others _greeted_ him, he probably didn't want to know.

Nope, Waverly was going to have to get him a new partner. Maybe one who actually knew how to smile and didn't shut down when you asked him a simple question about his past. Besides, how could he ever work well with this surly, sarcastic, ice block of a man? There was no way they were going to get anywhere as a team. Not if they didn't even get along. Heck they couldn't even really talk to each other. They would be screwed in the field if this was going to be their working relationship.

Besides, the guy gave him a black eye. Napoleon really was vain about his face.

Now all he had to do was convince Mr. Waverly to remove these terrible handcuffs.


	3. The Guilt Affair

**AN: Some days I feel bad for Waverly. It can't be easy putting up with some of the ridiculous things the agents do. If I were him I would definitely have them do silly things as a way of evening the score. **

Of course Waverly was against stopping what Napoleon had mentally classified as an experiment in American-Russian relations that was doomed to go up in flames. Furthermore it didn't help that the person he was trying to get rid of was standing less than two feet away from him. Nope didn't help at all. Napoleon was steadfastly trying to forget the flash of what looked like pain that had briefly entered the blue eyes of his new partner when the suggestion was made. It was the first true emotion that he had seen on Kuryakin's face and, quite frankly, was unexpected. How was he supposed to know that Illya would be unhappy with the suggestion that the two of them be assigned separate partners?

Napoleon was quickly learning that guilt was a cruel, cruel thing.

I mean it wasn't like the two of them were getting along well. They barely spoke. And they were completely different people. He was a ladies man, suave and charismatic. Illya was…

He wasn't quite sure what Illya was, but he'd know it when he saw it.

So he was perfectly within boundaries about asking to be reassigned? Right?

Watching as the Russian agent moodily picked at his salad, his back turned to him, Napoleon was starting to feel otherwise.

Dang it!


	4. The Interrogation Incident Part I

**This will probably be the last update for a little while ( I will be away from a computer for like two weeks), so enjoy! **

Some days Napoleon wondered if Mr. Waverly hated him. What had he done to the U.N.C.L.E. head to deserve an interrogation assignment while still suffering through his week in handcuff hell? Had he given him coffee instead of tea on accident one day? Been caught calling him Alex in private? Worn the wrong tie on Office Casual Day? Did they even have an Office Casual Day?

Napoleon also wondered if he was going slightly insane.

Two days of being trapped with a human glacier would do that to a guy. Now they were standing outside of interrogation room three, both of them trying to awkwardly page through files one handedly. Next to him Illya sighed and quietly slipped his folder under his arm. Taking Napoleon's in one hand, he held it up so that they could more easily read from the same file.

"It makes no sense to struggle when there is an easier path," was his quiet remark, making Napoleon feel even worse about his attempts to get rid of the guy the other day. He was just quietly going along with whatever U.N.C.L.E. did with him and for some reason that bothered Napoleon. No one should feel that expendable.

"Cheer up, buddy! At least you're not the guy sitting in that chair in there." The conciliatory remark shocked both of them, and for a moment Illya smiled at him.

"It is like you Americans say. Been there, done that." Napoleon shuddered slightly at the slight reminder that not all of the agents had pleasant pasts. Part of him felt sorry for the Russian. The other part wondered why he couldn't have been partnered up with someone who had a little less baggage.

(Who was he kidding, even he had baggage!?)

"How about this, I'll play good cop, since I'm obviously the more friendly of the two of us." Napoleon paused to see how Kuryakin would react and noted that the man didn't even frown at the description. Truth was truth after all. Secretly Illya thought that the American agent was a little too friendly, like one of those street mutts that you just couldn't shake. "You can play bad cop and we'll see how it goes from there." Illya nodded, wondering how that was going to work with the two of them conjoined at the wrists.

They were just going to have to do their best.

**AN: So the next chapter will be their lovely attempt at good cop/bad cop. Reviews are love people!**


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